Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1)

by Amanda Torrey

  She slammed the coffee stuff down and stormed over to Quentin, ripping the muffin-in-a-mug out of his hands.

  “Hey, I was eating that!”

  “You were making fun of that.”

  “No, I was just, uh, you were getting coffee.” His voice trailed off. His expression was reminiscent of a young boy caught coloring on the walls.

  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it seem.”

  He sat back on the futon, crossing his arms over his wide chest. Silent. Then a Cheshire cat grin erupted on his face.

  “Try it. I dare you.”

  She huffed and puffed and tossed the mug onto the makeshift counter. “I followed the recipe exactly.”

  “Go ahead and try it. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  She wrinkled up her face at him. “I’m sure I will!”

  She lifted the mug and selected a new spoon, since she hadn’t wrestled his out of his grasp. The muffin smelled good. How bad could it be?

  She took a giant bite. Not bad at all.

  Although…

  “Ick!” She spit the bite of muffin into a napkin, then guzzled down her now-lukewarm coffee. “What the hell?”

  He didn’t just laugh—he guffawed. Rocco ran and put his front paws on Quentin’s lap, seemingly trying to figure out what was happening to the man.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” She threw a crumpled up napkin at him. Rocco quickly retrieved the piece of trash and began ripping it to shreds.

  Quentin rose from the futon, striding toward her with a predatory glint in his eye.

  “Coming for more?” She taunted, holding the mug out to him.

  He didn’t answer, but possessively grabbed her hips and pulled them to him. Her body reacted instantly.

  “I’m definitely coming for more.”

  She swallowed, pulling her lower lip into her mouth and chewing. She leaned her head back, preparing for a kiss.

  He bypassed her mouth and went straight for her bare neck, nibbling and licking and nuzzling with his scruffy face. She shivered at the eroticism of having him take ownership of her most vulnerable spot.

  “You get lonely.” Quentin didn’t pose a question—he presented his words as fact.

  She struggled to string words together.

  “No I don’t.”

  “You talk to your dog. And you’re nicer to him than you are to any people.”

  “He likes it,” she bristled. “And he accepts me the way I am.”

  “Guess he and I have that in common.” Quentin swooped in and claimed her neck once again. He nibbled a trail over her shoulder (who would have thought that area could be such an erogenous zone?) He pressed his body into hers to keep her upright against the wall as he used a free hand to pull down her neckline the slightest bit, giving him an all-access pass to her sensitive collar bone.

  She moaned. Damn him!

  “I seem to remember that you always liked my attention in this area.” His mouth followed the bone while his hand drifted to her breast.

  He remembered correctly. And she couldn’t think of one single lover, aside from him, who had ever discovered this about her.

  “I remember all of your secret spots.” His breath was warm as his words fanned across the trail of moisture he had left. “I fantasize about them all the time.”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head in an overload of pleasure. Ten years apart hadn’t dimmed one fucking thing.

  She struggled against him—not really struggling, but she felt like she was being strong, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control.

  “Aren’t we in a fight?” She whispered the words, groaning and writhing at the effects of his persistent mouth and teeth.

  His denial vibrated against her throat. She arched her back, driving her hips and breasts into him.

  “I seem to remember that we weren’t getting along last night. Ohhhh,” she whimpered. Her hands went to his chest in a half-hearted attempt to call a cease-fire. “You were angry.”

  He pulled away and straightened to his full height. She looked up at him, expecting him to step away.

  “You’re absolutely right. You have some making up to do.”

  “I made you a muffin,” she blurted out.

  She didn’t think his eyebrows could go any higher without hitting the ceiling.

  “Like I said, you owe me.”

  Savannah dragged her finger in swirls across his chest.

  “What do you have in mind?” Even to her own ears, she sounded like a sex-phone operator. He did dangerous things to her libido. He even made her forget why she was so upset with him in the first place.

  He leaned in for a kiss, but lingered over her lips. Sparks shot between them—tingly, painful, delicious. Why wasn’t he kissing her yet?

  Quentin continued to tease—keeping his lips only millimeters away from hers. She tried to close the space, but he wouldn’t allow it. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, the space below her ear, and a trail across her face to the corner of her mouth. Her body had relaxed to the point that if he removed his hands from her hips, she’d collapse in a heap of mush. She’d give him anything. Do anything. As long as he kissed her the way she needed him to.

  “So you agree?” His deep voice vibrated in her ear, creating an erotic warmth.

  “Mmm.” She reached out and captured his earlobe between her teeth. His turn to sigh.

  “Excellent. Joey and I will pick you up at three.” He sealed the deal with the kiss she had been longing for, preventing her from voicing her objections.

  Savannah shouted at him as he practically freaking danced to the door.

  “That wasn’t fair!”

  He blew a kiss to her, gave Rocco one more head rubbing, then slammed the door shut behind him, all while Savannah maintained a glare so long she hoped her grandmother wasn’t right about faces freezing that way.

  Savannah slunk to the floor, back against the wall, burying her head in her hands.

  She might as well accept the inevitable—that Quentin and his cherub-faced son would be whisking her away for some sort of mysterious date. She had blown off ice cream night. She had given Quentin a hard time about making her babysit.

  She couldn’t let the kid down again, and knowing Quentin, he probably already made promises.

  Besides, if she had plans with Quentin, she couldn’t possibly stop by for dinner with her parents like her dad had hinted about.

  Savannah still didn’t trust herself around Joey, but she wouldn’t be in charge of his care. She’d just be a tag-along.

  Not like she had any good options. For as long as she was stuck in this town, someone was always going to have something they expected from her.

  ***

  Savannah groaned as she reached way up in the closet. After her run, she had decided to busy herself with cleaning and organizing the studio. Might as well do something nice for her parents since they were letting her stay here. The amount of dust in the place had her sneezing enough to keep a wind turbine generating electricity for weeks.

  One more closet to organize and she’d be ready to wash the floors.

  Savannah readied the trash bag for another load of junk. Her mother would probably kill her for throwing away so much stuff, but seriously, how many empty egg cartons did one person need?

  When she couldn’t reach the box in the corner of the closet shelf, she dragged a chair over to assist her. After a bit of a struggle to dislodge the thing, she finally succeeded. It was lighter than anticipated (compared to the other boxes full of junk.)

  Savannah dropped the box to the floor, sneezing again when a cloud of dust flew into her face.

  She settled in beside the box, shooing Rocco away when he tried to nose his way in. If she found a dead animal in here, she’d scream. Or set the studio on fire.

  Confusion marbled her thoughts as she dug through the box. What was this? And then she knew. The small, fading scraps of memorabilia—an old ticket stub to a school play, stuck-together
Pokemon cards, a clear baggie with brown hair clippings, scribbles drawn by the unsure hand of a young child—all were linked to memories of her sweet brother. Of Brandon.

  She held each memory to her heart, then placed a kiss on every item. She lifted the small blue teddy bear from the box, hugging it as tightly as she wished she could hug her brother.

  Savannah smiled at the memory of giving her brother the blue bear. She and Quentin had taken him to the local fair when her parents were too busy to do so. Savannah hadn’t been happy about it—a younger brother was a huge inconvenience when she wanted to be alone with her boyfriend and maybe meet up with her friends—but Quentin had insisted it would be fun. Quentin had alternated between carrying Brandon on his shoulders and Savannah on his back for most of the night. He took Brandon on the rides that Savannah didn’t want to go on, and allowed Brandon to drag them from game to game. When Quentin kept striking out on winning a prize and Savannah had made fun of him, he offered for her to give it a try. He nearly fell over when she won on the first attempt. Brandon had triumphantly carried that stupid little bear all around for months. And when he became “too old” to carry a stuffed bear, he kept the toy hidden in his bed.

  Savannah tucked the bear into her shirt with its fluffy little head sticking out the top. Hands free, she pulled out several more things, including the baseball shirt Brandon had been wearing when he earned his very first trophy.

  Emotion clogged her throat. If she deserved to cry, this would be the time. But no, if she had been a better sister, Brandon would be alive today. There wouldn’t be a stupid box full of stupid mementos of a life ended too soon.

  She whipped the bear out of her shirt and tossed it back in the box, along with the other items. She closed the box up tight, then returned it to its hiding spot. As she was getting off the chair, another box caught her eye.

  Savannah paused before reaching for the new box, considering how much she could handle. She deserved this torture. The fleeting comfort of holding things that represented her brother; precious items he had held and loved. The painful, stabbing truth that he wasn’t here any longer because of her.

  She didn’t know why she took herself down to the lake last night. She supposed it was her way of slicing open the emotional wound, of bleeding her heart into the place where she had let her brother down. She knew she didn’t deserve happiness; that she’d never attain it, anyway.

  The self-inflicted pain nearly crippled her. She pressed her hand to her heart, then to her stomach. No amount of pressure would save her from bleeding out.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When the cramps eased up, she moved away from the temptation of the closet and turned up the music, watching Rocco drift as far away from the loud tunes as he could.

  Isn’t this what she did best? Run away from her problems? Tune them out until she didn’t have to deal with them anymore?

  She started to toss things back into the closet, but knowing there was another box up there made it hard to focus.

  Just look in the box. Get it over with.

  She didn’t have to war with herself for long. If she didn’t look at it, she’d be haunted the rest of the time she was here. Might as well rip the bandage off quickly.

  She pulled the box down, just as she had the other one.

  She gasped as she lifted the flaps and saw things she had left behind. Precious mementos of her very own life here in Healing Springs.

  Boxed up and stuck in a private closet as if she had died that day, too.

  She had always thought her mother was lacking in sentimentality, that she was a bit removed from her children. Yet she kept all of their favorite things, tucked away in enclosed shrines of their lives.

  Maybe she wasn’t as cold as Savannah had always imagined. Clearly her mother wasn’t so out of touch that she wouldn’t know the things to keep. The very items that best represented the lives of her children.

  She couldn’t keep digging. She hastily packed the few items she had rummaged through, returned the box to its spot, and geared up for another run.

  She needed the clean air to chase the dust from her sinuses and her mind.

  ***

  “I didn’t know where you planned to go, so I hope this outfit is okay.” Savannah gestured to the only non-running t-shirt she had brought. “I didn’t exactly bring my whole wardrobe, but I can throw on pants if shorts won’t work.”

  His gaze breezed over her body, and she shivered as goosebumps erupted at his attention. “Perfect.”

  “I can’t leave Rocco for long, so if we can’t bring him, I’ll have to be back within a couple of hours.” Yeah, he’d be fine for longer, but if using Rocco as an excuse could get her out of this date, she’d use it. She had no qualms.

  “He is more than welcome. I know you’re a package deal.” Quentin smiled and winked, and Savannah had the feeling he knew what she was trying to pull. “Come on, boy. You can sit in the back with Joey.”

  With no backup excuses, Savannah shuffled out to the truck. She greeted Joey with enthusiasm that felt surprisingly genuine. His bright, infectious “kid-ness” warmed her deeply. She never, ever allowed herself to get close—physically or emotionally—to children, but being around this boy reminded her of how much she once loved kids. How she had dreamed of having two of her own. How she had even thought—erroneously—that one day she’d adopt and give a few abused kids a permanent home full of love.

  Clearly she had been grandiose and didn’t know the damage she was capable of.

  Rocco’s face-licking and Joey’s belly-giggling pulled her back to the present.

  She made a silent promise to herself that for this one afternoon, she wouldn’t punish herself. For this one collection of moments, she’d pretend she wasn’t a murderer.

  “Turn it up!” Joey kicked the back of his father’s seat as he shouted out his demands.

  “If you say so.” Quentin winked again at Savannah and turned up the radio. A peppy kid’s song filled the cab of the truck, and Savannah found herself dancing along in her seat.

  How hard could it be to live in the present for a change? The past would be there for her when she was ready to sleep tonight.

  Savannah had been so busy watching Joey sing to Rocco that she didn’t notice where they had gone. When she heard the crunching of the truck tires on the sandy parking lot, she looked ahead. She didn’t recognize this place, but she knew they had left town.

  “Yay! Can we swim?”

  Savannah’s gut tightened at Joey’s request.

  “I don’t know if the water’s warm enough to swim yet, buddy, but we can definitely go in to your knees.”

  Savannah took in the sight of the trees and the trail. Did he bring her to a lake? They had driven too far for it to be the lake, but she wasn’t ready to deal with any body of water (aside from the ocean) without a bottle of liquid strength—the kind she could only get at the liquor store.

  Quentin opened her door as she gripped the seat.

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.” Quentin’s eyes twinkled. He had no idea what he asked of her.

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Joey chanted in the back seat, and Rocco eagerly awaited his turn to run wild.

  She couldn’t ruin this for them.

  Reluctantly, she swung her legs out of the truck, hopping down as Rocco jumped out. Quentin climbed in to release Joey from his buckles.

  Joey ran ahead down the path. Savannah quickened her pace, not wanting to let him get too far ahead. Quentin grabbed her hand and squeezed.

  “It’s okay. He knows the way.”

  She couldn’t lie to herself—his hand cradling hers felt nice. Warm. Strong. Protective. Secure.

  She hadn’t been this intimate with a man since, well, him. All those years ago.

  Sex? Yeah, she could maintain her distance even in the midst of the action. Hand-holding and affection? Way more than she allowed.

  She didn’t pull away. Quentin didn’t release her.


  A short, anxiety-ridden walk through the woods brought them to a potential crime scene—a body of water eager to swallow up some poor soul. The gently lapping waves washed over rocks and sent chills down her back, like nails over a chalkboard. There was a time when the soft sound of the waves and the rippled blue of the water would have soothed her. Now, however, her whole body tightened.

  Quentin must have noticed, because he removed his hand from hers and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. He kissed the top of her head.

  “Daddy! Look what I found!”

  Joey held out a small, flat rock—perfect for skipping.

  Quentin gave Savannah a squeeze before releasing her and jogging over to his son. He bent to examine the treasure, then led his son to the water.

  Savannah’s heart threatened to thump its way out of her chest. She wanted to look away, but if she let her guard down, something terrible would happen. She stepped closer to the shore, dragging her feet through the sand. Rocco ran wildly along the beach, kicking up a sand storm, but, to her relief, stayed away from the water.

  Joey kicked off his sneakers. Savannah’s heart nearly exploded. She stepped closer, freezing as the boy entered the water. He didn’t go past his ankles before he bent down and started digging in the sand with a stick.

  Eyes glued to the boy, Savannah didn’t notice Quentin throwing a stick for Rocco until it was too late. Rocco promptly bolted for the water, jumping into the glass-like surface without waiting for permission.

  Joey’s laughter pierced through the screams in Savannah’s head as Rocco splashed the boy. Quentin and Joey began to splash back at the dog, who collected his stick and brought it to the shore to chew on.

  Savannah swallowed past the lump of fear lodged in her throat. Body stiff, she stormed over to Quentin.

  “Don’t do that again.” She kept her voice low so as not to frighten Joey, but she wouldn’t tolerate Quentin’s lack of concern for her dog’s safety.

  “Do what?” He had the nerve to fake confusion.

  “You know what you did. With the stick.”